


A Toast on Humans (and Earth While We're at it, I Suppose)

by Voleste



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 11:27:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3567956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voleste/pseuds/Voleste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I will try to be polite to Gabriel, no matter what the provocation." Or; Aziraphale, Crowley and Gabriel around a campfire in december, pondering about New Years resolutions and humanity in general.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Toast on Humans (and Earth While We're at it, I Suppose)

They still weren’t sure how they ended up here, but they agreed that they could at least blame the thirteen bottles of wine they had downed together, because none of them wanted to take the blame themselves.

Somehow dolphins had been involved, and sushi take-out, and on top of all that a woollen, tartan scarf that had started everything. The discussion. The unwanted company. And oh _sweet lord_. The crossword puzzle.

That was how they found themselves in a forest in southern England, the three of them huddled around a campfire.

“I don’t like this outdoor experience,” Aziraphale began prickly. It had just started to rain, but conveniently the area around them stayed dry. “I don’t see why people seem to like it so much.”

The light of the fire grew dim and the demon next to him threw another set of twigs on top of it. The fire flamed up.

“Funny. I remember you were the one suggesting it,” Crowley pointed out.

“Oh, _you_ are one incredible - ”

“Honest truth.”

“You do know we were all a little… intoxicated.”

“Intoxicated is one way to call it.”

He huffed upon seeing the sly smirks of both Gabriel and Crowley. The latter poked the fire with wild and genuine enthusiasm. Sparks were flying around. If you looked closely you could see the remains of the crossword puzzle, blackened and burnt around the edges. You could barely make out ‘cotton’ in the handwriting of Aziraphale. It was crossed out by someone else, who had filled in ‘candle.’ That too was crossed out to the point that it had simply become illegible. (But, for some reason, Crowley thought that the answer should’ve been ‘clocks.’)

“I don’t see the point,” Aziraphale said for what must’ve been the sixteenth time that evening. By the seventh time Gabriel had snapped that he had made his point, which then derived into a discussion about how the human languages were just so ambiguous. Everything about the human race was unnecessarily complicated.

“What about the tower of Babel?” Crowley had asked. “That was _your_ doing.” The angels had disagreed. And that - Gabriel and Aziraphale teaming up together - was a rare and terrifying thing.

The Archangel groaned loudly. “Really, Aziraphale? You’ve been longer on Earth than I have. If there’s anything I’ve learnt from humans… there isn’t always a point. Sometimes things just are and you have to accept that.”

At this point it might be good to mention that the three were, as Aziraphale had put it, as intoxicated as the night before.

“So the point is that there’s no point?”

“No! - Well, maybe. But that’s not my point. My point is that - ”

“What?” Crowley interrupted the conversation.

“My point is that there doesn’t always have to be a point,” finished Gabriel with a serious expression, his voice betraying his glee. “Isn’t it good to take a break and relax once in a while?”

They were silent as they pondered these words. It was nice to have a break and not get bothered by either Heaven or Hell. Sitting in a tent in late December, twenty miles from Lower Tadfield was not Aziraphale’s idea of a nice, relaxing break, but still.

Gabriel miracled marshmallows in existence. Aziraphale got intrigued and grabbed the plastic bag to shake one out. “What are these?”

Apparently it was a sin to ask, because Gabriel pretended to be going into a severe heart attack - his head barely missing the fire in the process - and Crowley looked indignant before shoving an unburnt twig in his hands.

“You manoeuvre it on the stick and you...well, you roast it.” It sounded a lot less exciting when put into words like that. Not that roasting marshmallows would be particularly exciting for beings who were well over six thousand years old. Especially not when you considered they could essentially change the entire world if they wanted to without even having to blink.

Yet Aziraphale had insisted on doing it the proper way and was now holding a twig with a marshmallow attached to it, turning it round and round above the fire. It had an oddly calming effect.

Crowley got them some more wine. These were the days crammed between Christmas and New Year’s. It had been snowing and freezing. Their campsite however was completely clean and it was a comfortable twenty degrees, comparable to a cool summer day. Gabriel had already abandoned his jacket.

“Any New Year’s resolutions?” he grinned, downing the wine in one go.

“It’s nearly 2006, angel. Who cares about resolutions anymore?”

“I’ve got one,” Aziraphale said. He was still roasting the marshmallow. Or rather, a second marshmallow, as Crowley had stolen the first one. His eyes crinkled in amusement, but it was easily overlooked in the dim light of the fire.

“I will try,” he began, with the emphasis on try, “to be polite to Gabriel. No matter what the provocation.”

Gabriel gawked for a moment. A rare expression, and Crowley wished he had been fast enough to take a picture.

“Honestly, I don’t know why you act so surprised. You have brought it upon yourself.”

The Archangel recovered scarily fast from this revelation and merely shrugged. “You’re just mad because I interrupted your precious make-out session with your book collection.” Then, to Crowley: “Have you ever caught the guy gingerly stroking a leatherbound cov - ”

Aziraphale hit him with the stick. The marshmallow slid off and fell on the ground, where it rolled over and over and miserably burnt to a crispy black when it eventually landed into the fire.

They all looked at it; two of them a little mournful.

“That is not what I call polite.”

“And 2006 has yet to come.”

Gabriel started to laugh and clapped Aziraphale on the back.

“You know what? The years on Earth did you good. It’s been a welcome influence on you.” To his surprise Aziraphale laughed as well, softly as he threw the stick on the fire. He watched the flames flaring up.

“I can’t say the same for you. I had to hear it from Crowley, here. He says you’ve been meddling with pagan gods. Honestly.”

He gave a shrug. “Not meddling. I’m just pretending to be one. Since I’m hiding. You know… I don’t see the harm.”

The demon next to him snorted. “Right. I’ve met the real Loki once. He didn’t seem too pleased about the whole, err, situation.” They exchanged glances.

“What have you done with him?” Aziraphale asked.

“Oh, don’t throw a pity party for Loki,” Gabriel groaned. “The bastard deserved it. He’s just imprisoned.”

“In a temple,” Crowley said.

The Archangel grinned slightly.

“Devoted to Apollo.”

He grinned wider.

“A _Greek_ god.”

“Come on! It’s all in good fun. I remember you were laughing your ass off when you came to me. You were in hysterics because Loki wanted to make a deal with you. So don’t lecture me.”

Aziraphale clapped his hands together and shifted in a more comfortable position. He folded his hands and stared at Gabriel until the Archangel looked back at him. “I think I’m starting to understand why you ran away from Heaven.”

It was as if the fire stopped crackling. It was as if the planet stopped moving, something all three of them could feel if they tried. It was as if time had stood still for only a fraction of a second. Had they been human, they probably wouldn’t have noticed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gabriel said, a little too quick and a little too casual. “I wouldn’t have survived those Sound of Music marathons.”

“Its premiere was in 1959, my dear,” Aziraphale corrected. Gabriel himself had been gone for centuries. It was true, though, that the Sound of Music had been a number one hit for decades. He occasionally found himself humming Do Re Mi, even though he hadn’t actually been in Heaven for quite some time.

“No, I… Heaven has changed. We all lost something.”

“Like a flaming sword?” Gabriel sneered.

Aziraphale shook his head. “No. You know what I mean. But I think I recently found it again.”

Gabriel frowned at him. “You and Crowley? Is that what this is about?”

Crowley proceeded to choke on his wine.

“That most certainly was not the point I was going to make,” the angel said, a tad miffed. Gabriel really should’ve known better than to question the Arrangement he had with the demon. “The point is humanity. The early nineties… it was supposed to be End of the World. And then it was not. I think that was the right thing to do,” he concluded. “I think that is what we really should do. Looking after it.”

“Humans?”

“Humans,” Aziraphale confirmed. “And Earth, while we’re at it I suppose.”

“I’d toast on that,” Crowley murmured.

Gabriel silently filled his glass. He smiled; not a grin, or a smirk, but a genuine smile. It was gone as quickly as it had come. It hadn’t gone by unnoticed. “I don’t know if I can believe in that. But it sounds like a good resolution.”

Glasses clinked.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1 ) Being polite to Gabriel is an actual New Year's resolution from Aziraphale, which you can find here; http://pr.harpercollins.com/author/authorExtra.aspx?authorID=3417&isbn13=9780060853969&displayType=bookessay
> 
> 2) I don't know why they're camping. I was writing on my multi chapter fanfiction, showed my friend a paragraph and they cracked up because they thought that Crowley and Gabriel were in a little camping tent (while they were really in one of those big tents where hundreds of people could fit in) so...yeah. :D


End file.
